I See, I Stand, I Remember
by Karen Weasley
Summary: Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition AU: Harry is killed by Voldemort in the graveyard, and now see the aftermath from an unique perspective.


**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: round 9 AU. This round's challenge was to write a story given an AU scenario. For Chaser 2, I had to write about what would have happened if Harry had died in the graveyard at the end of Goblet of Fire. Optional Prompts: Winter Winds, An undelivered letter, and Sentence: S/he's too quiet these days. This may be a bit different, but I hope you all enjoy, and GO KESTRALS!**

_**I See, I Stand, I Remember**_

The pattern is all too achingly familiar as they begin to mourn; I have seen it before…far too often if I am truly honest. With all the years I have been accepting young people to learn how to hone their magical gifts I have seen many a youth stolen by the ever greedy arms of Death. Most have moved on to the realm beyond, but some like poor Myrtle remain with me, too frightened to leave. I know _he_ has gone on…he was always too strong of a boy to be frightened by the idea of death. They know it too. I watch them as each begins to deal with it in their own way.

I ache with the sobs of his friends and adopted family as they gather together for support, but I know that soon they will separate to grieve alone. Everyone is in shock for now; most cannot wrap their heads around what has happened…how did they allow this to happen? How can they possibly accept that they could have done nothing to stop the determination of Death?

The days pass slowly, and the pain radiates from every student, staff member, and ghost. It is as though the ghastly winter winds are sweeping among them as I stand powerless to protect them completely. They still cling to each other in the hopes of gaining some form of support and understanding while still trying to respect the pain of their peers. And I know because I have seen it before, that they will find little to no comfort in each other…the pain is far too deep.

Now they all sit alone. They slowly pack their things, but their packing is punctuated by moments of reflection occasionally accompanied by a gasp or sob surrounding his name: "Harry!"

I see a pale boy crying in the confines of his room where no one but I can see him, cursing the death and wondering what will become of him without the hope of victory. He worries for his family and for himself in the world that he is now sure will fall into darkness.

I see a man with slick black hair I once knew as a boy pacing his office in obvious distress. He pauses to open a secret drawer in his desk and stares desperately into the face of a girl. He lets out a choked sob as he begs her forgiveness for failing her.

I see an older woman dabbing her eyes with an emerald green handkerchief in her office as she attempts to deal with the pain of losing a student; she was always so devoted to them, that I know she suffers a great deal when one is stolen from her.

I see an old man staring out his window with the light missing from his blue eyes as he continues to blame himself for what had happened. He angrily questions himself with the same questions everyone asks after a passing; I know there are no answers to be found, and that makes the pain all the worse.

I see various children wondering what will become of them without their hero; how could they carry on? He had been their inspiration since their birth, and with Evil rising, how could Good rebound from such a terrible blow?

I finally look to those who knew him the best. I see his roommates sitting silent in a room that once held so much laughter, all of them wishing they could summon him back to them with a single mention of such a memory.

I see twin boys sitting together and not speaking: an unusual sight. Normally the heart of the party…they seem to have lost the heart to make a joke. They simply sit and stare, each lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally, they glance at one another, and I know they are dreading the idea of one or the other being next. I often see it after a death; everyone begins to consider their own mortality and value their safety.

I see one of his best friends, the girl, sitting on her bed and sobbing over a picture of them together and asking "Why Harry?" to whoever was listening. Her books that hardly ever left her hands lay forgotten in her trunk as they offered her little comfort now.

I see the poor girl who loved him the most curled in a corner of her room, neither sobbing nor speaking. I know the symptoms all too well: the deepest pain allows neither words nor tears to aid the mourner. Her healing will take longer and require more…some never quite recover.

I finally see his other best friend, the boy, sitting alone in a desolate corner in some forgotten room simply staring at the wall. He is too quiet these days…he used to be the life of the room, but his life seems to have left him. Like the girl, he asks "Why?" and receives no answer to soothe his pain. He feels he cannot cry, but I know his fight is in vain. The loss will eventually strike in such a way that tears cannot and should not be held at bay.

Several more days pass, and finally the old man calls everyone together. He tries to speak to them of valor and hope, but his speech falls on many deaf ears. Too many are not ready to move to acceptance and beyond…their pain is still much too real. Still, the man continues to speak in the hopes of healing some of the wounds Death has left behind. Many of the students gasp and sob his name into the air thick with pain: "Harry!"

I feel the boy's soul echoing through me like the words of an undelivered letter. Another soul departed too soon…another life cut too short. Was it not so long ago his young eyes lit upon me with wonder and hope for a new life? Was it not so long ago he sought the refuge only I can give? I share in their pain for I have failed another child in my promise of protection and safety.

After a few more days, the students depart for their own homes: a different set of walls with their own stories to tell. My own tell a story many hundreds of years long littered with betrayal, love, happiness, and death. They say that walls have ears, but mine have more than just ears. My walls have eyes, and they never forget the imprint of single student that has ever sought me out. They never forget a student taken from me before their time, and they will certainly not forget the boy that Death stole in that forsaken graveyard: Harry James Potter.

His memory will live on within my walls as long as I stand, and I will stand: not just for him, but for every single one of my students that has died in the battle of Good and Evil! I will continue to be a refuge for those with magic, and I will defend them from the evil that plagues this world because I know that is what he would have done, and he will be smiling down on them when they can send their children to me in a world of peace.


End file.
